The Crimson Skew (The Mapmakers Trilogy) by S. E. Grove (26)

25

Lichen’s Quarry

NOSH KNEW EVERY inch of the terrain, and he had a stopping point in mind for every rest, every meal, and every overnight stay. Sophia learned why the Eerie were so impossible to find: they all lived hidden in plain sight.

On the first night they stayed with an Eerie named Lupine, whose burrow of a home was carved into a mounded hill. Lupine asked them nothing about their journey, learning everything quickly from Nosh, but she told them what she had seen of the war, she showed them how the ash had nearly ruined her hives, and she gave them enough food to last for days: blackberry cake and apple bread and hard cheese and honey.

On the second night they rested with Pruce, whose tree house overlooked a clearing surrounded by conifers that he said had reminded his forebears of the Red Woods left behind on the western shores. As they finished their meal, it began to rain, and they watched with relief from Pruce’s windows as the water washed away the gray ash that had coated the trees. Sophia was glad for the moss-covered roof that absorbed the rainfall like a sponge. The air turned unseasonably cool, and Pruce lit his wood stove and sat in silence with them, listening as the wind and rain tussled with the trees.

On the third night they stayed with Lichen, who made his home in a deserted quarry. They arrived late, just as the sun was setting, and Sophia was beginning to droop over Nosh’s neck. They passed through a narrow opening between two boulders, and suddenly a hooded figure appeared in their path. Sophia started. “Nosh, Bittersweet,” a man’s voice said cordially, and she relaxed. The man reached up to stroke Nosh’s nose.

“Good evening, Lichen. This is Sophia. Thank you for meeting us,” Bittersweet said.

“Not at all,” Lichen replied. “The path can be difficult in the darkness.” He led them in silence along the edge of the quarry, until at the far end they reached an opening in the earth—a dark tunnel. He lit a torch that illuminated a clean stone passageway. “Nosh can rest here,” he said, patting the moose’s neck. He helped Sophia down from Nosh’s back, and she caught a glimpse of a quiet face and long black hair beneath the hood.

Sophia and Bittersweet followed Lichen down the short tunnel to where a stone stairway wound upward. At the top, a house of stone with wide windows overlooked the quarry. Sophia walked toward the glass, awed. “It’s filled with water!” she exclaimed. The dark pool was just visible in the faint moonlight.

Lichen had removed his hood, and he joined her at the window. “Yes—it fills with rain. It has a strange hue now, thanks to the ashfall we had.” He turned toward the room behind them. “Please make yourselves at home.”

Mismatched chairs stood around a woolen rug. Sophia sank into a nest-like chair padded with pillows. Her legs ached from riding; she wanted to curl up and sleep for a week. At the windowless back of the room, a long worktable was covered with the elements of a half-cooked meal. Lichen picked up where he had left off, cutting vegetables and dropping them into an iron pot.

“No luck yet, then?” Lichen asked Bittersweet.

Sophia was beginning to grow used to the Eerie style of conversation, where most of what transpired took place in silence. “No luck,” Bittersweet replied. He sat down on the floor and threw himself back against a heavy pillow.

“Nosh seems less discouraged.”

“Nosh is an optimist,” Bittersweet said dryly, “for reasons I cannot fathom.”

Lichen gave a slight chuckle. He finished what he was doing and carried the pot to the woodstove, covering it tightly before joining them on the woolen rug.

“And what about you, Sophia?” Lichen asked, his eyes bright. “You are also on a search.” His face was worn from age, but his expression was youthful, even mischievous, and he moved with the agility of a much younger man. Sophia noticed that his hands were callused from heavy work, and she wondered how much of the house had been hewn by hand.

“Yes, I am also searching—I have been for some time.”

“And your search takes you to Oakring.”

“We follow Nosh’s orders,” Bittersweet said wearily, closing his eyes. “Why he wants to go to Oakring now is beyond my understanding.”

Lichen smiled. “I suspect Nosh knows best, as he always does.” He rose to check the contents of his pot, which was beginning to fill the room with the scent of stewing vegetables, and when he returned he asked Sophia, “Has Bittersweet told you how Oakring came to be?”

Sophia shook her head. “I know nothing about it, other than the location, which I have seen on my map.”

“Ah!” Lichen said, pleased. “Then I can tell you the story.”

Bittersweet, his eyes still closed, commented, “Sophia likes stories.”

Though Sophia understood in principle how Bittersweet could know things about her so easily, she still found it unnerving. That very morning, as they rode through a patch of forest, Bittersweet had pointed to a stone stained with moss and water: “It looks like a map, doesn’t it?” he had asked, voicing her thought.

“I do like stories,” agreed Sophia.

“So do I.” Lichen smiled. “And this is a good one. It is about two people who fell in love many decades ago. The woman, Orli, had the Mark of the Vine, and the man, Baer, had the Mark of Iron. Their families were horrified at the affection between them, and forbade them to be together. So they planned to run away. But on the very first day of their journey, they were stopped on the road by an old woman, who claimed to be a diviner. She warned them that if they stayed on their intended path, they would come to ruin. Orli and Baer asked what they could do, for they had no wish to return to their families and be divided from one another forever.

“‘The trouble,’ the old woman said, ‘is that one of you is rooted and one of you is rootless, and if you do not reckon with the difference, you will never be at peace. Those with the Mark of Vine are rooted—their great power is that they draw upon the earth, but their great weakness is that they have difficulty uprooting. Those with the Mark of Iron are rootless—their great power is that the iron in their bones guides them like a compass, but their great weakness is that they have difficulty staying in one place. If you travel together now, Orli will always want to stay, however dangerous or inhospitable the place may be, and Baer will always want to go, however ideal it may be.’

“‘Then what are we to do?’ Orli asked.

“‘You must part ways and reach your destination by different paths.’ Orli and Baer looked at one another, dismayed, but they recognized themselves in the old woman’s descriptions, and they nodded their assent. ‘Take this bell,’ the diviner said to Orli, ‘and take this acorn,’ she said to Baer. ‘When the bell rings in your hand, Orli, you will have arrived. And when the acorn sprouts, Baer, you will have arrived.’

“So the two went their separate ways. Baer, though he missed Orli greatly, was happy to wander, and he almost forgot about the acorn that sat in his pocket. As he traveled wherever his iron bones led him, he told his tale to everyone he encountered. ‘Orli and I will found a new place,’ he said to them, ‘where those who are outcast elsewhere are welcome.’ And so earnestly and warmly did he describe his destination that people of all kinds began to follow him.

“Orli suffered greatly, for she had no wish to wander. But the bell the diviner had given her urged her onward, for whenever she rang it, she seemed to hear a distant ring—not in her hand, but just on the other side of the hill, or just beyond that patch of trees. She went on in search of the sound, hoping with each step that the bell would ring in her hand. And when she encountered people along the way, she told them of her quest, and she described with longing the place where they would finally arrive to find safety and quiet and rootedness. Many who heard her were moved, and they chose to go with her, so that by the seventeenth month of her journey she traveled with almost thirty people.

“It was summer, and Orli had journeyed far north—almost to the Eerie Sea. She had arrived at the edge of a forest where a great oak tree threw its branches outward, and beneath the oak a busy group of strangers labored, clearing small trees and building foundations and gathering stones for walls. Orli rang the bell, and this time it rang in her hand: a high, pure voice announcing that her journey had ended. Then one of the group beneath the oak tree stepped forward. It was Baer. The great oak tree was the tree that had sprung from the acorn he carried, and the bell announced to them both that they were home.

“And that was the founding of Oakring,” Lichen said, rising to his feet. “It has always been a haven for outsiders: people who find themselves unsuited to life anywhere else. But it is also known for being a place where people of great differences—the Mark of Iron, the Mark of the Vine—can be reconciled. You may not know that the man who brokered peace after New Akan’s rebellion was from Oakring.”

“Was he?” Sophia exclaimed. “No, I didn’t.”

“A place for peacemakers, they say.” Lichen ladled the stew he had made into wooden bowls and brought them over to the rug.

“Thank you,” Sophia said. The stew smelled of sweet corn and squash.

Bittersweet sat up and took his bowl eagerly. “Thank you, Lichen.”

“There are even some Elodeans who live there,” Lichen went on, watching his guests eat for a moment before picking up his own spoon. “Most of us avoid such crowded places—much too loud—but even among Elodeans there are outcasts.”

Bittersweet raised his eyebrows. “Even among Elodeans? I would have said we are all outcasts. And some among us . . .” He looked at Lichen meaningly.

Lichen nodded.

Sophia followed their exchange of glances. “What? Some among you what?”

“Some outcasts are too far beyond the pale, even for Oakring.”

“What does that mean?” Sophia persisted.

Lichen and Bittersweet ate in silence for a moment, both staring into their bowls. Finally Bittersweet raised his head. “No one likes to speak of it. But there were three Elodean sisters, some years ago, who took refuge in Oakring. We had cast them out.” He shook his head. “You should tell the story, Lichen. I was not even alive then.”

Lichen had grown somber. “I’m afraid there is little I can tell. The people in Oakring may tell you more. We cast them out for wanting to use their gifts in destructive ways. You understand—to cast out an Elodean does not mean to remove them from a place, since we all lived scattered.”

“Then how are they cast out?”

“They can no longer call themselves Elodean.”

Sophia put down her spoon. “How terrible.”

A flash of grief crossed Lichen’s face. “Yes. We did not make the decision lightly. The sisters took refuge in Oakring. But, not long after—and not entirely to our surprise—the people of Oakring also cast them out. In fact, the three sisters are the only people ever to be cast out of Oakring.”

“They must have done something dreadful,” Sophia said.

Lichen did not answer. He swallowed another mouthful of his stew and then ate on until he had scraped the bottom of the bowl. “They fled to the Eerie Sea,” he said finally, breaking the silence. “And as far as I know, they make their home there still.”

The stone house had several rooms, and Lichen led Sophia to a small bedroom with a square window that overlooked the quarry. All was black beyond the glass. Lichen opened it, saying that the night was warm. A scent of piney soil drifted in through the open window. He gave her an extra pillow and a cotton blanket before saying good night, and Sophia wearily removed her boots and prepared herself for bed. Washing her face in a bowl set above the bureau, she wiped away the many miles they had covered that day. So tomorrow we reach Oakring, she thought. And we will see the grove where the Lachrima disappear. She felt a tremor of nervousness, wondering what the new day would bring. Shaking out the blanket, which smelled faintly of wood smoke, she climbed into the bed. As she rested her head on the pillow, the words of her Ausentinian map came to her with a flash: “You will travel to the Forest of Truces, where the silent bell rings and the dormant seed grows. From then on, the map you follow must be your own.”